


Foundation

by Fanforthefics (StormDancer)



Series: Hockey Tumblr Oneshots [27]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Not Hockey Player(s), Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-08-27 17:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16707175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDancer/pseuds/Fanforthefics
Summary: They spend the rest of the afternoon playing video games, and Tyler bullies Jamie into taking a picture with Marshall in exchange for just hanging out and not going sightseeing or anything, and it’s fun. It’s like they’re back home, back before Tyler became Tyler Seguin, #2 draft pick of the Boston Bruins, and Jamie didn’t change at all.





	Foundation

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: childhood best friends AU. 
> 
> Don't know, don't own, etc.

Jamie eyes the building skeptically. It’s not, he guesses, actually particularly intimidating–it’s just a Boston apartment building–but it is…well, it has a doorman. Jamie was lucky his last apartment had doors. 

But he’d known, sort of, what to expect, coming up to visit Tyler, and Tyler’s at the end of it, he tells himself. Tyler makes everything slot back into place. 

So he shoulders his old duffel bag of shit that he’d brought, and goes up to the doorman to give his name. 

The lobby is–again, it’s not like, super sparkly or anything, but it’s nice. Sleek and modern. Jamie feels ratty and conspicuous here, waiting as the doorman rings up to Tyler’s apartment; he hunches his shoulders but the basic fact is Jamie’s always been too big to be inconspicuous. 

“You can go up,” The doorman tells him, with actually a pretty nice smile. “Elevators are to your right.” 

“Thank you,” Jamie mutters to him, and goes to the elevator. It’s got mirrors in it, reflecting up and around and back and him staring at himself a thousand times, which no one needs to see. 

He goes up to the fifteenth floor, gets out. He’s halfway down the hallway when a door swings open, and there’s a yell. “Jamie, fuck! Jamie!” Tyler shouts, and then Jamie’s opening his arms on instinct and Tyler’s barreling into them, the same warm solid weight as always, and Jamie ducks his head into Tyler’s temple and breathes as everything slots into place, like it has since they were ten and playing street hockey until everyone else went home. 

“You’re here, fuck,” Tyler mutters into Jamie’s neck. His aftershave is different–it’s spicier now than it was before. “God, I’ve missed you.” 

And that’s Tyler, always so quick to say shit like that, the shit that gets stuck in Jamie’s throat. “You too,” Jamie says. It’s been–fuck, it’s been years, because Tyler’s schedule never quite overlaps with school breaks, and they’ve both been so busy. They text all the time, of course, and they try to Facetime at least once a month, but–it’s not the same. 

Then there’s barking, and another body comes out of the room. Jamie lets go of Tyler to kneel down to meet him, ducking his head as Marshall starts licking at his face. “Hi, yes, hi boy,” Jamie tells him, petting his head and laughing. “Yes, you’re a good boy.” 

“Okay, Marsh, share some of Uncle Jamie’s love,” Tyler tells his dog, but when Jamie looks up at him, he’s grinning down at them, like he’s never seen anything better. 

“Okay, come on.” Tyler bounces back. He’s put on muscle since Jamie’s seen him last; he’s always been ripped but now he’s sculpted too. Because what Jamie’s sanity really needed was for Tyler to be even more gorgeous. 

But Jamie’s had a long time to ignore that, when Tyler beams at him and tugs at his arm like an eager dog. “Come on, let’s get inside.” 

“Yeah,” Jamie agrees, and as always, lets Tyler pull him along, into his orbit. It’s always been like that, since they were kids–Tyler was the exciting one, who made things happen, who drew people in, who was going to be the big NHL star. And Jamie was–well, Tyler was loyal and held onto people, Jamie guesses. So even when they stopped living down the street from each other, even when they should have outgrown each other, Tyler held on. And Jamie’s spent years trying not to remind him that maybe he shouldn’t. 

“Here we go.” Tyler leads Jamie into the apartment, gestures around. “It’s–I mean, I can give you the grand tour, but it’s pretty open concept. Uh, kitchen, dining room, living room.” He wave to each part of the sweeping main room as he names it. “Then, here, down this hall is the bedrooms.” He points out his, the guest bathroom–of course he has a guest bathroom–and then the spare bedroom, where Jamie will be staying. Jamie drops his bag there, on the center of the queen bed, before Tyler’s ushering him back out into the main room.

“So?” he asks, and he has that look he gets sometimes, like he’s so anxious for approval. Jamie worries about that look, more than sometimes–worries what would happen if he started looking for the approval of the wrong people. Tyler likes to be liked, and that’s dangerous. 

But for now, he’s looking at Jamie. “What do you think?” 

Jamie looks around. It’s all big and high ceiling-ed and sleek, and it’s very much the product of NHL money, but it’s also–Tyler’s shit is everywhere and there are empty beer cans and gatorade bottles on the counter and unwashed dishes in the sink and Marshall sprawled out on the couch. Those are the important things, he reminds himself. 

“It’s great,” Jamie tells Tyler, with his most sincere smile. “Really, Segs. Great.” 

“Well I needed something to do with my signing bonus,” Tyler grins again. “Want anything? Water? Beer? I figured we could chill for a while or we could go sightseeing, then there’s a party tonight we can go to, and I’ve got a game tomorrow that I got you tickets for, and Blacker’s having a thing after that, and if you need something to do Brownie can show you around, and–” 

“You don’t have to amuse me, Tyler,” Jamie laughs, and shoves at his shoulder to shut him up. “You know me, I’m fine with just like, a video game setup and some wifi.” 

“I want you to enjoy yourself,” Tyler insists, but he gives Jamie the wifi password anyway. It’s a very Tyler thing–he tolerates, but has never really understood, that Jamie doesn’t need to always be moving to be entertained. Tyler always needs people, action. And that doesn’t seem to be a problem here. 

“Want to play Call of Duty?” Jamie suggests, and Tyler smirks. 

“Yeah, you can remember how much I always kick your ass.” 

“Fuck you,” Jamie retorts, and Tyler shoos Marshall off the couch so that they can sit on it. Tyler’s TV and game set up is fucking massive, but that’s settling, in a way. This is something Jamie’d always known Tyler would spend money on the second he got it. 

Tyler wins the first game, because maybe he always has been better, but then Jamie starts winning the next one so easily that he looks over at Tyler to make sure he’s still there. 

He is, but he’s also looking at Jamie, not the screen. “What?” Jamie demands, suddenly on edge again. He’s too big, too awkward, too–

“I’m just glad you’re here,” Tyler says, ducking his head a little so he doesn’t meet Jamie’s eyes. 

“Yeah,” Jamie agrees, and nudges Tyler’s knee with his. “Me too.” 

///

They spend the rest of the afternoon playing video games, and Tyler bullies Jamie into taking a picture with Marshall in exchange for just hanging out and not going sightseeing or anything, and it’s fun. It’s like they’re back home, back before Tyler became Tyler Seguin, #2 draft pick of the Boston Bruins, and Jamie didn’t change at all. They order dinner from an Italian place Tyler likes so he can sort of keep to his meal plan and Jamie can eat what he wants too, even if Tyler refuses to let Jamie pay him back for his half–”Bro, I ate most of it anyway, and you’re the one who travelled, come on”–and then Tyler herds Jamie into his room to get ready to go to the party. 

Jamie, knowing Tyler, did actually pack clothes for a party, even if his clothes for a party are just dark jeans and a black button down that Jenny says look good on him. He messes with his hair a little, but really there’s just not much to be done with that, so he finishes before Tyler does, then wanders back out into the living room to mess around on Twitter and play with Marshall. 

“Here’s my two favorite guys,” Tyler says, finally coming back in. Jamie glances up–and swallows. Tyler always looks good, but this is a different sort of good. The sort of good that comes from money and comfort in that world, that easy confidence in himself Tyler’s always had that Jamie’s leached off of for more than ten years. 

Jamie straightens, goes to run a hand through his hair before he remembers all the shit in it. “Hey, ready?” 

“Hm?” Tyler blinks. He’d definitely been staring at Jamie. “Yeah, let’s go, the guys’ll meet us there.” 

“Do I look okay?” Jamie asks. Tyler’s still stealing looks at him, and Tyler’s a dick sometimes but he wouldn’t let Jamie leave the house not looking right. 

“Um. Yeah. Definitely. You look hot.” Tyler leans down to kiss Marshall’s head, then ruffles his fur. “Be back soon,” he tells his dog.  

“Good to know you still spoil him rotten,” Jamie says, as Tyler closes the door behind them. Tyler raises an eyebrow at Jamie. 

“So you didn’t give him any treats?” he asks, and Jamie shakes his head, trying and failing to look innocent. 

“Nope.” 

“You’re a shitty liar, Benny.” 

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” Jamie asks, giving the lie up as lost. “I have to make sure he remembers his uncle Jamie.” 

“You could come visit more,” Tyler suggests, as they leave the elevator to get into the cab that’ll apparently take them to the party. “Then he’d definitely remember you.” 

“I don’t have the time or the money, Segs, you know–” 

“I have the money, though,” Tyler cuts in, looking mulish. They’ve had this argument before. “It’s stupid to not see you for a year when I could–” 

“When you could what, pay me just to sit around and hang out with you?” Jamie asks, and Tyler gives Jamie the irritated look he gets when Jamie says things he doesn’t want to hear. “It’ll be easier now I’m not in school, Ty. I’ll be able to take vacation when I want.” 

“Maybe when I have bye weeks,” Tyler muses, looking out the window. “You can come with me to Cabo! It’s the best.” 

Jamie will not make enough money to go to Cabo with Tyler and his new guys, who either have enough money or mooch enough money off of Tyler to just do things like that. To live that life. But it’s not worth starting the argument now, so Jamie just hums and nods, and then Tyler starts talking about the Red Sox, and Jamie has to give him shit for that. 

They get to the party–at some club that looks exclusive but Jamie couldn’t pick out of a lineup that someone must have rented out–and indeed, Tyler’s guys are waiting there, a pack of bros of the type that Tyler collects around him. 

“Seggy!” they greet him, with various back slaps and bro hugs and fist bumps, and Tyler gets a hand on Jamie’s wrist and holds him steady. 

“This is Jamie,” Tyler announces to the group, “He in college so he has proof he’s smarter than all of you combined, and he’s my best friend so he’s awesome.” 

“I thought I was your best friend,” someone objects, and Tyler grins at him as Jamie bristles. 

“You’re my boy, Brownie,” Tyler tells the guy, “But Jamie’s Jamie, sorry.” It helps. To hear Tyler say that, like a fact. “Okay, Benny. This is–” He goes around, and the guys all do the nod or handshake or whatever, but the names honestly go in and out of Jamie’s ears. He won’t be here long enough for them to matter, and he doesn’t expect them to talk to him much either. 

The only one he does register is Brownie, the guy who has said he was Tyler’s best friend. Jamie’s heard about him before, knows he’s one of Tyler’s closest friends, and from what Jamie’s heard he’s a good guy. That doesn’t mean it feels any better to see him joke with Tyler, to see how easy they are together, how well Brownie fits both into this space and with Tyler. 

But honestly, Jamie’s had a lot of practice being awkward and holding up a wall at parties Tyler dragged him to, because that was most of high school, so he does well enough. He gets a beer and drinks it and chats with a girl who comes up to him about baseball, even though it’s not like he’s going to take her home, and then when Tyler comes over and throws himself onto his back and orders him to come get more tequila with him, he does. He takes the tequila shot, watches as Tyler’s adam’s apple bobs, as his lips get slick with the alcohol, and lets Tyler drag him over to the pool tables, where they run the old gag of Jamie acting like an idiot and Tyler acting drunk to fleece everyone out of their money, which has worked since they were barely old enough to see over the tables. 

Tyler knows better than to try to get Jamie on the dance floor; he leaves him after pool at a table with Brownie and some of the other guys as he goes off to dance with a pretty blonde girl in a short skirt and pink lip gloss. 

Jamie takes a sip of his beer. Brownie’s eying him. 

“What?” Jamie asks, his back going up again. He knows he gets defensive, in spaces like this. He just can’t help it. 

“I’ve just heard a lot about you,” Brownie says, with the sort of calm that comes from being pretty drunk. “You’re not what I expected.” 

“Um. Sorry?” Jamie tries, because he doesn’t know what to say to that. “I mean, Tyler and I have been friends a long time?”

“I know,” Brownie tells him, then gets up. He stumbles a little, but he makes it to the dance floor, where he somehow joins Tyler and the girl he’s dancing with in a way that seems smooth and easy. Jamie takes another swig of his beer. 

///

They make it back to Tyler’s late, with Tyler drunk enough that he’s hanging off of Jamie and Jamie drunk enough that he’s not quite steady enough to hang off of Tyler. It’s another move that’s comfortable–Jamie’s usually the DD, and he doesn’t mind. Drinking at parties often just makes him feel more awkward. 

So Jamie digs the keys out of Tyler’s pockets, opens the door, pets Marshall when he comes to greet them, and then goes to pour Tyler into bed. 

Tyler’s bedroom looks like it has everywhere he’s lived since Jamie knew him–messy and full of sports shit. There are pictures on the wall–one of him and his family, one of the Bruins with the Cup. One of him and Jamie, all of fourteen and decked out in hockey gear, with their arms slung around each other and grinning up at the camera. 

Jamie sighs, and looks back to the bed, where Tyler’s lying, then turns to leave. 

“Jamie?” Tyler asks, low. 

Jamie freezes. “Yeah?” 

Tyler props himself up. He’s staring at Jamie, eyes wide. “I just wanted to make sure you were really here. That I didn’t dream you.” 

Jamie grins. “Really here, bro.” 

“Good.” Tyler burps, and then drops back onto the blankets. “Did you have fun tonight?” he asks. Maybe more demands. 

“Yeah,” Jamie says, because he did, for some of it, and it’s clearly what Tyler needs to hear. 

“Really? I want you to have fun.” A yawn. “Want you to like it.”

“I like you,” Jamie assures him. “Now get some sleep, and drink water.” 

“Yes sir,” Tyler raises a hand in what he probably means to be a salute, and Jamie goes back to his room, where he can face plant onto the big bed and sleep it off. 

///

Somehow–Jamie’s guessing practice–Tyler’s gone by the time Jamie wakes up the next morning, and there’s a note on the table telling him that Marshall’s walked and that he’ll be home after morning skate but if Jamie wants to go out he can meet him somewhere, and there’s a key in the junk drawer. Being Tyler, of course he doesn’t mention breakfast or anything like that, but Jamie knows Tyler and so knows where to find the coffee and stuff to make himself toast. 

Then he surfs the TV until he finds a shitty action movie he doesn’t really have to pay attention to, and stretches out on the couch. He should be doing homework, but it’s been a long senior year already and he’s dreading job searching, and honestly Jamie feels like he’d be happy just here for a week, lying on a couch surrounded by Tyler-things, with the knowledge that Tyler will be home later. Jamie’s lived near or at home most of his life, but somehow, just knowing Tyler’s nearby makes this more comfortable than his childhood bed. 

He dozes all morning, and then is woken up by something crashing. Jamie looks up to see Tyler in the kitchen, juggling bags. 

“You okay?” he asks, rubbing his eyes. 

“Yeah–sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.” 

“I’ve slept enough,” Jamie tells him, and gets up to wander over to the kitchen. “Anyway, I’d rather hang out with you.” That gets him a huge grin, one of the ones that takes over Tyler’s whole face and lights up Jamie from the inside out. He wonders if any of Tyler’s new friends can make Tyler smile like that. 

They have lunch, then Tyler has to take his pre-game nap so Jamie writes an email home and attaches a picture of Jamie, Tyler, and Marshall, because his mom will like that. 

Then they go to the game, and Tyler has to go down to the locker room but he gets Jamie settled in a box first–with the rest of the families, he says, as he waves goodbye to Jamie. It’s–Jamie’s been to Tyler’s games before. He played hockey, before he decided that juniors wasn’t the path for him. And he’s been to NHL games before. 

But it’s not like being in the box. It’s full of WAGs and some kids and suits, and Jamie feels out of place in his jeans and Chara jersey–a joke, because Jamie had told Tyler once years ago that he’s not wearing his jersey until he gets a Gordie Howe, which they both know isn’t going to happen. Jamie would wear a Seguin jersey if Tyler asked–there isn’t much he wouldn’t do, if Tyler asked–but now it’s easier, just to wear the captain jersey. He gets fewer questions, this way, from all these fancy people who give him sidelong looks like they aren’t sure why he’s here. One–a nice older woman–asks who he’s here for, and he tells her he’s Tyler’s friend, which gets an eyebrow raise and, in a tone of surprise, an exclamation that he looks like a nice young man. Jamie doesn’t really know what to say to that, and so the conversation fizzles, and Jamie goes back to watching the game. 

It’s a good game. They’re the defending Stanley Cup champions and it shows, and Tyler’s on fire, just lighting everything up. It makes Jamie want to yell and scream and make sure everyone in the booth is watching, that they all know just how brilliant Tyler is, just how fucking good. 

But it doesn’t seem like he has to. All around the stands, people are cheering, and when Tyler scores he lifts his stick and the crowd cheers, and Jamie can see Tyler’s face on the jumbotron, his huge grin and how he’s feeding off of the crowd. He shines so bright here, and Jamie’s so proud of him, but–Jamie looks down at his scuffed shoes. He’s not nearly that bright. 

Tyler had given him express instructions afterwards to come down to the locker room, so Jamie does, loitering by the door and getting some questioning looks while he mumbles something about being friends with Seguin, until Tyler bounces out in just a towel around his waist and tugs at his wrist. 

“Great game!” Jamie tells him, ruffling his hair, and Tyler bats at his hands but he’s still beaming. 

“All for you baby,” he says with a wink, and Jamie rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, put some pants on,” Jamie retorts, and Tyler laughs again and holds the door open so they can go into the locker room. Tyler’s clearly still keyed up; instead of actually getting dressed he tows Jamie around and introduces him to everyone, and Jamie barely has time to realize he’s meeting people whose hockey he idolized before Tyler’s pulling him over–”Z! Have you met Jamie? He’s your biggest fan,” and “Jamie, this is Marchy, he’s the worst and don’t listen to anything he says.” Jamie doesn’t know what he says in return, but it definitely isn’t anything that’s going to impress anyone. 

The guys are all nice, of course, even if they also just played a hockey game and so don’t really want to meet Tyler’s random friend. But Chara smiles and nods and makes a few words of small talk, and Marchand makes a joke but trading notes on keeping Tyler in line, and Bergeron shakes his hand, looking dignified and serious and Jamie manages not to freak out but is definitely bright red. 

“It’s good to meet you, Jamie,” he says, calm but with a smile in his eyes. “Tyler talks about you all the time.” 

“All of it good, I promise,” Tyler adds. “I haven’t said anything about the thing with the goat.“

“Tyler!” Jamie hisses, going even redder. He rubs at the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he tells Patrice fucking Bergeron, “I swear he wasn’t really raised in a barn.” 

“We’re used to him,” Bergeron says, laughing a little. “What are you boys up to while you’re here?” 

“We’re going out tonight, then sightseeing tomorrow. I want to show Jamie all the sights,” Tyler pipes in, wrapping his arm around Jamie’s shoulders. He still hasn’t put pants on, or a shirt, and it’s a lot of skin pressed up close to Jamie. He’s not used to it, anymore. And fucking Bergeron’s right there. 

“Well, have fun.” Bergeron says, with that dignified smile. Jamie swallows. “Hopefully I’ll see you again before I leave, Jamie.” 

Jamie mumbles something, then turns into Tyler as Bergeron walks away. “You can’t just spring him on me, Segs!” he hisses, leaning down so that only Tyler can hear him. 

Tyler gives him an impish smile back. “What, me?” 

“I had the hugest fucking crush on him and now he thinks I’m an idiot–” 

“I think that’s the wrong tense, Benny, and you didn’t come off like an idiot. Just maybe a little star struck.” 

“Because I am!” Jamie glances around, then drops his voice to a whisper. “You hang out with them all the time, but I’m not used to meeting NHL stars!” 

“You get used to it,” Tyler tells him, tilting his head up. His lips are swollen from his mouthguard, and he’s still lit up from the game. “Okay, I’m going to get changed, then we’re going out.” 

///

Once more, Jamie’s not sure where they are. It’s quieter than last night, at least–less of a club and more of a bar, but the kind of place with a rope and a minimum in the quadruple digits. Some of the guys from last night are there, and most of them give him a friendly nod–or, in Brownie’s case, a wary nod, and Jamie isn’t sure what he did to piss him off but he’s not apologizing for nothing–but there are new people, too, crowding around their table with Tyler at the center of it, the sun everyone orbits. Jamie gets it. Jamie’s been orbiting him too, for over a decade. 

But–they’re all talking, about people they know and parties they’ve been too and shit they’ve done, and it’s going fast and back and forth and Tyler’s in the thick of it, and there’s Jamie. Tyler keeps Jamie next to him with a hand firm on his thigh, and he looks over every so often with an eager smile, checking in–Jamie always smiles back, because he can’t not–but there’s nothing else for Jamie to contribute, here. This isn’t his life. This is as far from his life as it’s possible to be. His life is libraries and homework and a job at the end of it, something steady and boring and nothing that will give him this sort of lifestyle. Jamie doesn’t even want this sort of lifestyle. 

So he drinks the shots that are put in front of him and he smiles when Tyler smiles at him and he knows he’s drawing inward, getting into his head, but he can’t help it. He just wants–he wants to be fourteen again and chasing each other around a rink, sleeping over and whispering secrets in the dark, back when everything was simple and it didn’t matter so much that Tyler was bright and Jamie was dull. 

He really tries not to ruin the night, but Tyler knows him as well as he knows Tyler, and so he must see that Jamie’s flagging because he bows them out early–barely 1 am–and gets them in an uber home. Jamie’s not drunk, but he’s not not drunk either; enough not not drunk to slide a little too close to Tyler in the cab, so their shoulders are pressed together. When it’s just him and Tyler, it’s easier. Tyler’s hand rests on his thigh again, a warm heavy weight that Jamie knows better than to think too hard about. 

They get to Tyler’s building, and then they’re up the elevator and greeting Marshall in Tyler’s big, high-ceilinged, gorgeously unattainable apartment, and Tyler follows Jamie into the spare room, takes a seat on the bed. 

“Everything okay?” he asks, tentative but not unsure. “You’re doing the internal thing.” 

“It’s fine.” Jamie can’t tell Tyler this. 

“It’s not fine,” Tyler insists. “You’re sad, and I hate that, and just–look, it’s just me. You can tell me everything.” 

Jamie looks down at him–at Tyler on his bed, with that bright smile and gorgeous everything and the NHL success clear from his shoes to his apartment. Maybe Jamie is drunker than he thought, because instead of more denial, what comes out is, “What am I even doing here?” 

Tyler’s smile falters. “What?” 

“Why am I here?” Jamie gestures around the room. “I’m not–this. This isn’t me. I don’t know how to be this.” 

“What’s this?” 

“All of it! Your brilliant shiny new life here!” Jamie waves again. “With your clubs and shiny new friends and I’m just–boring. I don’t fit. Maybe it’s time to let it die.” 

“Fuck that!” Tyler on his feet now, and he looks really worried. “Did someone say something to you like that? Tell me who and I’ll–” 

“No one needed to say anything.” Jamie sighs. He’s just tired. Tired of wanting, tired of knowing he can’t have. Tired of the slow, bleeding heartbreak that is loving Tyler Seguin. “What room is there for me in your new life, Ty? I’m just some college kid. I’m not celebrity material.” 

“There isn’t room for you in my life,” Tyler says, and Jamie’s breath catches. Okay then. At least he said it. At least Jamie knows. 

“Fine, I can–” he turns, gropes blindly for the doorknob. “I’ll–” 

“No, shit, I didn’t mean that.” Tyler’s always been faster than Jamie; he’s up and between Jamie and the door before he can get a hand on it. “I mean that you aren’t–I don’t make room for you in my life, Jamie. You’re what it’s built on.” 

Jamie blinks. “What?” 

“Fuck, I mean–all of this?” Tyler waves his hand, like Jamie had earlier. “It’s fun, but–you being proud of me is the point.” 

“The point of what?” 

“Everything!” Tyler yells. “Just–fucking everything. Making you proud. Making you happy. It’s all I’ve ever–” he cuts himself off. 

“I am proud of you,” Jamie tells him, because it’s true, always. “I’ve always been proud of you, shit, Tyler. You know that.” He must have, but Jamie can actually see how it hits Tyler, how his eyes widen. “But that doesn’t–I don’t get why you want me here. I’m not fun or exciting or anything else.” 

Tyler swallows. “Do you promise not to hate me?” 

“I think that ship sailed when you pinned breaking your mom’s lamp on me.” 

“She always liked you better, you got off lighter.” Tyler’s looking at Jamie, and there’s a reckless light in his eyes. “Want to know why I want you here? Why I always want you here?” 

“You don’t have to–” Jamie starts, but then Tyler’s closed the distance between them and their lips are touching. They’re kissing. Tyler’s kissing him, and it–Jamie hasn’t had a lot of experience with kissing, but he’s never had a kiss like this before, one that aches. 

Tyler stumbles back. It can’t have been more than a few seconds, but Jamie’s world has turned upside down. Jamie knows what Tyler’s mouth tastes like, now. 

“God, Jamie.” Tyler’s staring, and one hand comes up to touch his lips. Jamie can’t look away. He’s frozen. He never thought–it doesn’t compute. “I’ve been in love with you since I knew what it meant to be in love. Longer, probably. I think I figured out what love was because it was what I felt about you.” 

“Tyler,” Jamie breathes. Tyler shakes his head. 

“And I know you’ve got your own life, and you don’t–” he gulps. “You don’t feel the same way, that I’m just an irresponsible kid, and that’s fine, but I’m still going to–you’re my fucking true north, or whatever, Jamie. And I’m not going to stop trying to make you happy however you need me too. Even if it’s just paying for dinner. Or giving you time with my dog. Or–” 

It’s gone on too long, and Jamie recognizes when Tyler’s starting to spiral, and Jamie might not be able to get his shit together for him, but he can pull it together for Tyler. 

“Tyler,” He interrupts, and Tyler stops talking and bites his lip as he looks up at Jamie, as open a book as always. Jamie should probably say more, give a speech like Tyler did, but Jamie’s always been shitty with words and it would probably come out wrong anyway. “Just–shit,” he says, and then pulls Tyler in to kiss him again. 

Tyler kisses back, eager and with that same ache, until they’re both breathless, and then he pulls away, a bare inch. “Really?” he breathes. 

Jamie nods. He doesn’t fit into Tyler’s life, and he doesn’t know if that’s going to change, or how. But he knows Tyler. Knows them. They’ve figured out worse. “Really,” he says, and pulls Tyler close. 

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Want to talk about it? Comment or come chat on tumblr at [ fanforthefics!](http://fanforthefics.tumblr.com/)


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